


nothing but a filthy habit

by glitteryrage



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, because zouis smoking is great fun to write about, zouis is slowly taking over my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteryrage/pseuds/glitteryrage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They go back and forth, slowly, and soon the room is hazy and Zayn realizes he never turned a light on. Louis' only outlined by the dim light from the city outside peeking in through the curtains and the lit end of the blunt. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>He looks good like this: all shadows and sharp lines, dulled by the smoke floating around and between them. He looks good all the time, really, but it's a different kind of good tonight. Softer, warmer, darker.</i></p><p>  <i>The only sound in the room is their breathing and Louis trying to roll a second with shaky hands. He manages eventually, lights it, takes a hit. Zayn reaches for it, wiggles his fingers when Lou doesn't give it over. Narrows his eyes when Louis holds it over his head.</i></p><p><i>"Can we try something?" He asks, and he's looking at Zayn with eyes bright and clear, and Zayn thinks about the dressing room, thinks about Louis' lips </i>this <i>close to his own, and how it'd felt like a question, and how he'd been about to say...</i></p><p>  <i>"Yeah, Lou." </i></p><p>(Or, Louis really likes drugs, and Zayn really likes Louis.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If anything, I'm restless

**Author's Note:**

> If Zouis is slowly ruining your life and you can't do anything to stop it clap your hands! *clap clap*

The first time he smokes with Louis, they're in Peru, and it gets them into a shitload of trouble with management. Like, "way to ruin your image, you know you've got kids in your fanbase, right?" trouble, but it was the kind of trouble that was worth it.

Not for the high, of course. They'd barely even gotten buzzed. But for the way that Louis had acted like he was high (Louis acts like he's high when he hasn't even secondhand smoked, but this was different than the usual). In the car, they'd both acted like they were, but Zayn'd had his head cleared by the time they were in the venue. Louis, on the other hand, wouldn't let it go. Its not like he was being obnoxious about it, or anything (imagine Louis Tomlinson being obnoxious, how out of character) he was just...not being himself. Or, he was being himself, but turned up a notch.

Once they were inside the venue, Louis refused to let go of Zayn for more than three seconds. Which, fine, not a big deal, the five of them are used to having their hands on each other, but not _this much._ It'd be okay, if Harry weren't looking at Louis like a lost puppy. He wouldn't mind Louis nosing insistently into his neck and his shoulder and having his fingers scratching through his hair if Louis hadn't been happily devoted to Harry since they'd all met.

He doesn't try to squirm away from Louis because there'd be no point. When Louis finds someone he wants to cling onto, he doesn't stop until he's good and ready. (Maybe it's more selfish than that; maybe it's that he _likes_ that Louis nosing insistently into his shoulder and neck and that his fingers are scratching through his hair. Maybe it's that Louis Tomlinson's attention is something special, and it's not his fault that Harry doesn't share well. Maybe.)

That's how he finds himself back stage with Louis attached to his hip. He's trying to fix his hair before they go on, because all of Louis' fiddling left it looking deflated. He wonders if there's a point in fixing it at all; Louis' bound to ruin it again as soon as he's done.

"Zaynie," said hair-ruiner mumbles. 

Zayn hums an acknowledgement, glances down at Louis. Louis shifts just a bit to get between Zayn and the mirror, wraps his arms tight around Zayn's waist and looks up at him. For all his acting, his over-playing, Louis' eyes are very clearly bright and alert, and they're full of something that makes Zayn's heart pick up. He wonders if Louis can feel it pounding against his chest. He wonders if it's Louis making his heart race, or if it's the high suddenly kicking in.

Zayn's lips part in surprise when Louis presses his to Zayn's cheek, just by the corner of his mouth, like he's asking, and Zayn is thinking, _oh my god, yes._

And then the door's being thrown open and Niall's laugh startles them both. All three boys pile in, Liam and Niall laughing and knocking into each other and Harry looking confused and lost (he probably is without Louis to follow around). He finally squirms out of Louis' arms, because the pounding of his heart isn't exhilarating anymore, it's making him feel exhausted.

Louis looks disappointed, but lets it go without a word. He drifts back over to Harry (though they don't say a word to each other, which is odd), and Zayn goes back to fiddling with his hair. He's got only one thing on his mind now: Louis' lips and what they'd feel like on his. 

_What the hell, what the hell, what the hell._


	2. Dazed and kinda lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Louis is high and Zayn is falling.

The second time he smokes with Louis, they're in a hotel in a country whose name he can neither remember nor pronounce, and he's absolutely baffled that Louis wants to do this again. Not because either he or Louis are the models of innocence, but because of the trouble it'd caused last time. The trouble between them and management, the trouble between Louis and Harry. It hadn't been worth it, really.

(The high, anyway. The idea of Louis' lips on his had been worth it, but he'd never admit that.)

"Oh, come on," Louis says as he stands at Zayn's door, middle of the night, looking restless and tousled, "you can't tell me the _Bradford bad boy_ doesn't want a hit or two."

Baffled as he is, the slightly embarrassing nickname has him opening his door wide and letting Louis in. (And it is the nickname. It has nothing to do with Louis looking soft and warm in his wrinkled sweatpants and jumper.)

Louis' in Zayn's bed before Zayn is. He pulls a little, rolled up baggie from between the waistband of his sweats and his hip, and Zayn can't help but laugh. 

"Stealth, Tommo style," Louis says before Zayn can make a comment. Zayn rolls his eyes, falls to his back next to where Louis' sitting crosslegged, and watches him roll a blunt with sure, quick fingers. 

True to typical Tommo-style lack of preparation, he didn't bring a lighter, so Zayn goes through his suitcase until he finds one in the pocket of a pair of jeans he wore to a concert days ago. He lays back down and Louis slips it out of his hand, waits for Louis to hit and pass. There's plenty in Louis' little bag to make more blunt than one, but Zayn's got no problem with sharing.

They go back and forth, slowly, and soon the room is hazy and Zayn realizes he never turned a light on. Louis' only outlined by the dim light from the city outside peeking in through the curtains and the lit end of the blunt. He looks good like this: all shadows and sharp lines, dulled by the smoke floating around and between them. He looks good all the time, really, but it's a different kind of good tonight. Softer, warmer, darker.

The only sound in the room is their breathing and Louis trying to roll a second with shaky hands. He manages eventually, lights it, takes a hit. Zayn reaches for it, wiggles his fingers when Lou doesn't give it over. Narrows his eyes when Louis holds it over his head.

"Can we try something?" He asks, and he's looking at Zayn with eyes bright and clear, and Zayn thinks about the dressing room, thinks about Louis' lips _this_ close to his own, and how it'd felt like a question, and how he'd been about to say...

"Yeah, Lou." His voice is gruff with anticipation, (of what, he isn't sure,) and he clears his throat. Louis' lips quirk up a bit and then he's taking another slow, long drag, and before Zayn can ask what he's doing, Louis' seating himself _on top_ of Zayn. Knees on either side of Zayn's hips, hands on either side of his head, lips pressed together and leaning in so close their noses bump and Zayn's absolutely positive Louis can hear his breath catch in his throat.

And then Louis' lips are open and he's opening his own mouth without thinking about it. He leans up to press his mouth hard against Louis' before Lou can lean down and do it himself, and Zayn catches them both by surprise; the smoke rushes out of Louis' mouth in a quick gust, and Zayn sucks it in with a gasp, and then they're both coughing and looking anywhere but at each other. 

Until Louis sits back on Zayn's hips, and Zayn's eyes snap to him, and, _what the hell, what the hell, what the hell._

He moves his hands, slowly, from the bed to Louis' thighs, holds them there until Louis' looking down at him again. Then he slides them to his hips, keeps them resting there, and just like he thought he would be, Louis' soft and warm and he wishes he'd lean back down, press their bodies together.

_Oh, what the hell._

They stay like that, Louis smoking the rest of the blunt, because Zayn's already dizzier than he'd like to be (he doesn't know if it's from the smoke or from the way Louis' letting him rub little circles around his hipbones with his thumbs). He's finished sooner than Zayn'd like him to be, and Zayn finds himself tucking the baggie into Lou's waistband; stealth, Tommo style. He can't ignore the way Louis shivers when Zayn's fingers dip into the band, doesn't try to ignore the way his own stomach dips. 

_What the hell is happening._

" 'M tired, Zaynie. Gonna go get some sleep," Louis mumbles as he lifts himself off Zayn's hips and steadies himself on the bed when he gets to his feet. "Don't let anyone come sniffing around here for a bit." 

He can hear the smile in Louis' voice, but doesn't even try to joke back. He's cold without Louis' weight on him, and he doesn't want to be alone. 

He doesn't realize how selfish that is until his door clicks shut behind Louis. Doesn't realize how selfish that is until he starts thinking about Harry, and how dependent he is on Louis' love.

_Oh, what the hell, Tomlinson. What the hell._


	3. I'm numb and way too easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Louis tries to forget that nothing is alright, and Zayn tries to pretend that everything is.

The third time he smokes with Louis, they perfect shotgunning. They're spread out on Louis' floor in a brand new hotel. Louis' on his back, feet crossed at the ankles, his head in Zayn's lap. So all Zayn has to do every time he wants Louis' mouth on his is take a drag and lean down...

And Louis lets him, every time. At one point, he even puts his hand in Zayn's hair to hold him still, keep their lips pressed just _slightly_ together, long after Zayn's run out of smoke in his lungs. 

They're not kissing, really, but they're close enough to it that Zayn feels absolutely giddy, and he knows for sure whether it's the smoke or Louis that's making him feel that way.

Things are good, in a way they haven't been the other times they've done this. Zayn's decided not to think too hard about anything (about why Louis' lips interest him more than the actual shotgunning does, about why he kind of wishes Louis were on top of him again). He's decided to just let things happen, think about them later.

Until Louis gets his mouth off Zayn's for long enough to talk, of course, then he's just got to ruin it. "Got in a fight with Hazza before we got to Peru," he mumbles, and when he says it, he says it like he's been meaning to say it for awhile.

 _So much for not thinking._ Zayn knows that if he wants to have a good time with Louis without feeling guilty, he's got to forget about Harry for awhile (selfish, god, Louis' made him so selfish).

Zayn passes the blunt off to Louis, because he's itching more for a cigarette than a high now. "Yeah?" He prompts, though he really doesn't want to know, doesn't want to talk about this (doesn't want to talk about how he can't believe Harry would let go of Louis even for a second; doesn't want to talk about how he hates sharing Louis' attention, Louis' time, Louis, Louis, Louis). 

"Yeah." Louis' voice is so small, Zayn almost feels bad for him. Almost starts thinking about all the ways he could help fix him and Harry, the dynamic duo, world's cutest couple. Almost.  
"I'm glad I've had you, Zaynie."

He's not even looking at Zayn while he says it. Those bright, clear eyes are worlds away from this room, and Zayn feels his stomach drop, feels the giddiness from the high fade away. Louis'd say that to anyone; if Liam had been in the car with him in Peru, he'd be saying the same thing to Liam right now; same thing with Niall.

 _Don't know why I thought I was special,_ Zayn thinks, shifting irritably so Louis' head slips off his lap, _I knew he and Harry were...whatever they were. I knew._

It's not like Zayn was looking for anything to come from this anyway. It's nothing but...getting high with his best friend and using shotgunning as an excuse to (almost) kiss him. Nothing more.

And since this has _nothing_ to do with _anything more_ than being high and (almost) kissing, Zayn should really tell Louis to piss off when he climbs into Zayn's lap, wraps his arms around his neck and presses his face hard into Zayn's shoulder. "Wanna shotgun again?" Louis mumbles, and Zayn can barely make it out considering Louis' talking to Zayn's shirt, but _whatever_ it is he asked, Zayn assumes the answer is,

"Not really," he says back. He's keeping his hands to himself, refusing to touch Louis anymore than he already is (because last time he touched too much, he hadn't wanted to stop, he'd been dizzy enough that he couldn't move at all afterwards, he'd thought about _something more_ but this can't have _anything_ to do with _something more)._

He feels Louis lift his head and keeps his eyes locked firmly on the wall. He's afraid of what Louis'll see in his face from so close up (hurt? Disappointment?). But he can't help but flicker his eyes to Louis' when one of Louis' hands move from his back to his cheek. He can't help but feel sad because how soft and sincere his fingers are, because there is nothing sincere about anything they're doing. It's to fill the time Louis'd rather be spending with Harry. It's to give Zayn the kind of buzz that drugs can't give anyone. It's selfish, it's needy.

It's hard to think of it that way while Louis' running his thumb along his cheek, though. Hard to think of it as anything other than hands shaking, heart pounding, jaw dropping _good_ when Louis' pressing his mouth gently against the corner of Zayn's, just like he did in the dressing room weeks before. It's hard for Zayn not to go to _nothing_ in Louis' hands, hard to keep his eyes from fluttering shut, and _impossible_ to say _no._

He turns his head just enough that Louis' lips are on his. Both their mouths are closed and he feels a bit like he's twelve years old and he's never kissed anyone before, but his heart is still pounding and his hands are still shaking.

And Louis gets his jaw to drop soon enough, gets his lips to part, and there's no smoke between them. There's no pretending it's the high Zayn's interested in, not the boy he's getting high with. He can pretend that this is sincere, though; he can pretend that Louis' more interested in him than he is in forgetting about Harry for an hour or so.

He can pretend, and so, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I love this or do I hate this?  
> Who knows.


	4. Staying in my play pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zayn drowns, and Louis is too in love to notice.

The fourth and final time he smokes with Louis, they cross a line he doesn't think either of them had ever _planned_ on crossing. 

It's just that, this time, Zayn doesn't give a shit about the high. He just wants Louis paying attention to him. It's not about the smoke, it's about...Louis' mouth, and Louis' skin, Louis' taste. It's about how close they can get (and they can get _very_ close). It's about Louis kissing bruises onto Zayn's collar bones, and Zayn running his fingers up and down Louis' sides, making him shiver. It's about goosebumps and soft sighs and pushing and pulling, moaning and laughing.

And when it's over, it's about the silence that follows. It isn't heavy, it isn't tainted with regret or awkwardness. It's soft, and warm, and hazy, and Zayn wouldn't mind if it were never broken; he wouldn't mind if they stayed like this, sort of high, very out of breath, rubbed off on each other, for a very, very long time.

Louis’ turned onto his side, supporting his head on one of his hands, the other drawing patterns onto Zayn’s chest. Zayn wants to brush his hair off his face, pull him just a bit closer, kiss him again, but he looks so thoughtful, he doesn’t want to interrupt. 

Zayn’s somewhere between _here_ and _not here_ too, smoke clouding his thoughts and Louis making his heart pound. He feels dazed and sleepy, heavy and content, and Louis’ fingers are gentle on his skin, and Louis’ breath keeps tickling his neck, and Louis' eyes might be heavily lidded and far away but they’re sparkling and blue and Zayn is beginning to think that--

“I really love him,” Louis says suddenly, breaking the silence and startling Zayn out of his thoughts. And just like that, the magic is gone, the room is stuffy, the sudden crash from the high leaves him feeling sick. Whatever he was _beginning_ think is useless, pointless, stupid. So, so stupid.

He wants to say something, something like, _I know_ , or, _He knows that,_ or, _He loves you too, Lou._ Something, _anything_ to break the silence that follows that _I really love him,_ something to make Louis think he’s okay. He doesn't want it to be obvious how put off he is now, how quickly his mood has changed, but his throat feels thick and his tongue feels heavy, so he simply nods, eyes fixed intently on the ceiling.

Louis being Louis doesn't even _notice_ Zayn’s silence, and if he does, he ignores it and plows right on. "I mean, like...like I _really_ love him. Like. Like we're not even real. Or something?" Louis trails off, his eyes flicking to Zayn, finally, to check if he understands.

He doesn't. Not in the slightest. And he hopes that maybe his general confusion will keep the annoyance (no, it's hurt. It's a lot of hurt with a little bit of annoyance tossed in, just to make things _that_ much worse,) off his face. Hopes, but it probably doesn't. "Think you're a bit high," he finally forces out when Louis tilts his head to the side, clearly (amazingly) waiting for an answer.

“No, yeah, I think so too?” (Zayn rolls his eyes, can’t help himself.) “But, I mean...it’s like we’re out of one of those dumb movies he likes. Like we’re so...much...we aren't even real?”

If Louis and Harry are something out of a romcom, then Zayn is definitely the guy that gets tossed off to the side, the guy the audience forgets about because they’re too busy cooing over the happy couple. He thinks about saying that, thinks about wiping the glazed, distant look off of Louis’ face, bringing him back down. Bringing him back to where they are _right now_ ; pressed together, all over each other, _Harry not in sight._

“Yeah, I get it,” he mumbles instead. But he wishes that, for once, Louis would pay attention and _shut the hell up._ He doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to pretend it doesn't bother him that Louis is naked in _his_ bed and talking about _Harry._

This time was about how he never wanted to share Louis again, and in those few quiet moments after they'd gone still and pliant in each other's arms, he'd thought he'd get that. He'd get _Louis._ And now he's playing fucking Dr. Phil with one half of the world's most loved couple.

"Dunno how to get him back," Louis' saying, staring at Zayn intently, like his face could possibly hold the solution to all of Louis' problems. Zayn's pretty sure it holds nothing but irritation and sadness that he's barely managing to hold in, though.

"Have you even tried talking to him?" And he can't keep the annoyance out of his voice when he says it because he already knows the answer. No, Louis hasn't said a word to Harry. Know how he put that together? Because if Louis _had_ talked to Harry, they'd be back to being a unit, being LouisandHarry, because Harry is a fucking _wreck_ without Louis Shit for Brains Tomlinson. No, no instead of just _talking_ to his so called _romcom movie soul mate,_ Louis decided to drag _Zayn_ into things, have a little fun with everyone's _misery._

Louis fucking Tomlinson, biggest asshole on the planet. 

Zayn's heart is beating hard and fast again, and as per usual, it's because of Louis. But this time, every hard beat of his heart pumps something toxic into his veins. No butterflies and sunshine and rainbows. Something bitter, something angry. 

He reaches for his cigarettes sitting on the bedside table and Louis' hand falls from his chest. As he lights up, he thinks about how before _right now_ , he'd be sad at the loss of contact. Now? It's welcome. The absence of heat from his stupid tiny hands is welcome. In fact, Zayn'd welcome the absence of heat in the bed from his stupid tiny body; he's just about to say something, something like, _fuck off,_ or, maybe something more polite, like, _please fuck off,_ when Louis exhales shakily, and Zayn glances over at him, and, oh, fuck.

Oh, god, no, not right now.

Louis' eyes are wide and shiny, his bottom lip jutting out just slightly, trembling. And Zayn just...deflates. All the angry, bitter things that were in his veins just moments before get filtered out, leave his body in a dirty cloud of smoke, leaving him filled with neither butterflies nor acid. Leaving him reaching for Louis again, just to feel something more than dry smoke and uncertainty.

His fingers find their way into Louis' hair, brushing through it gently, and as they do, Louis' eyes close. The shine that Zayn had seen in them falls onto his cheeks in fat, wet drops, and Zayn has to look away. Louis never cries, and he _knows_ it's just the high, it's always just the high, but it's still...well, scary. Scary to see.

"Dunno if I should even bother talking to him about it." Louis' voice is shaky and small, and when Zayn looks at him again, his eyes are still closed, and his cheeks are still wet. He wants to wipe at the tears, or… _something,_ but they've thrown him off, so he stays in his lane and fiddles with Louis' hair. 

"Why not?" He prompts gently. The selfish part of him that seems to grow every time he's with Louis hopes that maybe it's as simple as Louis being sick of the LouisandHarry unit. The selfish part of him hopes that maybe he's bored of it, exhausted by it, wants something different. New. 

The selfish part of him is wrong, though, and he knows it. Louis opens his eyes and sighs, shrugs and moves away from Zayn's touch. He starts tugging his clothes back on, slowly, like each move takes more energy than it should. Zayn frowns but takes the hint and starts redressing too. He figures Louis doesn't want to talk about it (why would he if he won't even talk to _Harry_ about it) and he's pretty sure he's just going to leave, leave Zayn wondering and sulking just like _every other time_ , when, 

"Well, you know how Harry's like...really...good? Just in general?"

Oh. So that's where this is going. A ridiculous place for it to go, obviously, but he entertains it with a nod anyway. 

"Right. Well, I've been thinking...what if I like, let it go? Because he's...well, you know him. He's so sweet, Zaynie," he throws himself back down onto the bed, face first, his jumper only half on, "and I'm just not? I'm not going to pretend I'm straight evil; but I'm not...I don't know, we're just really different, and maybe he should be with like...like, I don't know. Niall. Or something. Ya know? Niall's really nice."

Zayn rolls his eyes and gently tugs on Louis' jumper until it's on right, and then he gently pats his back (and then feels like an idiot, because what is he, Louis' mother? Jeez). "I dunno how well Niall and Harry would work out, Lou," he says, trying to keep his voice light. He doesn't remember RSVPing for Louis' pity party (in fact, he feels more like sending out invites for his _own_ pity party right about now), and, god, how stupid can he get? Harry's always been _head over heels_ in love with him, even if he's got a biting side. It's never been a _problem._

"Liam, then," Louis mumbles into the mattress, and Zayn can't help it now--he laughs. He laughs despite how aggravating Louis is. Despite how he'd rather be taking Harry's place than helping Harry get it back. (Move your feet, lose your seat, and all that...)

"They'd spend all their time trying to out nice each other. 'Li, a dozen roses? For me?! Here, have two dozen!' 'Aw, Hazza...I'll go get you another _three_ dozen!'" And he's joking but he feels exhausted; his chest aches, in a dull, empty way. 

Louis laughs (reluctantly, but still, it knocks through Zayn's chest, cracking and bruising every inch of it, and he takes every breath carefully, because if he doesn't, it hurts. If he breathes too deeply, it feels like a hit taken directly to the heart. He thinks it'd hurt less to stop breathing altogether, if only for awhile,) and rolls onto his back. He's got an eyebrow quirked, and Zayn can't figure out why until Louis pokes his side and says, with a teasing edge to his voice, "and not you, yeah?"

_Yeah._ Yeah, Zayn's more into the other half of the infamous Larry Stylinson. More a Louis person than a Harry person. "Yeah. Curly hair's not really my thing, honestly." He tugs gently at a wispy strand of Louis' hair as he says it, and Louis grins. 

Totally oblivious. He is absolutely oblivious. 

"Guess he'll have to be mine, then," Louis says, and he sounds like his usual sure, upbeat self once again. He sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and Zayn watches. Just watches, because the hollow feeling in his chest is telling him to grab Louis' arm and ask him to stay (just for a little longer, just because this is likely to be the last time they ever have a night like this), but he knows he can't. He knows where Louis' mind is (who Louis' mind is _with_ ); he knows where his thoughts have been every single time he's been with Zayn. He knows, he knows, he knows.

And he hates that he knows. He wishes he could be unaware, like he was the first two times they did this. When he thought that Louis' attention had meant something. When he'd thought there was a chance, even if it was only slight.

The hollowness in his chest turns icy when Louis gets up, starts moving towards the door. He tries to keep his breathing steady, his face relaxed, but he feels like cold water is filling up his lungs, because...because he never understood how Louis could just _leave_ like he does. Like he _always_ does. Like the things they did together, like every time their eyes met and their skin brushed and the world around them seemed to lose some of its color and sound and excitement because what they were doing together was so much _more_ than _everything else_ , meant nothing. Like all of it was absolutely nothing.

Like Zayn was absolutely nothing.

And he's been told, almost straight up, that he's a distraction ("Harry and I got in a fight; I'm glad I've had you, Zaynie") but it doesn't _feel_ that way. It _never_ feels that way. Not until...

Not until Louis' got his hand on the door. Not until he's ready to walk out, and _please don't go_ sits, heavy, on the tip of Zayn's tongue.

"Gonna go talk to him. I'll tell you how it goes later?" He turns the door knob, opens the door. And Zayn knows he won’t need Louis to tell him how it goes; he knows Louis and Harry will be fine within minutes. They'll fall asleep together, and come morning, he'll be stuck dealing with them, as a unit. LouisandHarry.

If he holds his breath, he won't feel it. It won't hurt as badly.

He forces a smile and nods, because he's not breathing anymore. There's too much water in his lungs. Too much, too cold. But it doesn't matter, because when he's not breathing, it doesn't hurt. And he’s terrified of drowning, but if he drowns, it won’t hurt ever again. If he lets the water freeze his lungs and numb his veins, it won’t matter that Louis doesn't...well. That Louis loves Harry.

When Louis smiles--no, _grins_ \--back at him, his eyes are bright and clear, like he can't believe he's lucky enough to have a friend like Zayn (who will hold his hand and get high with him and fuck him like they're in love). He shuts the door, and this time, which was about Louis, Louis' skin, Louis' breath, and the comfortable, warm silence, is now about being alone and not being able to breathe. It's about coming in second, it's about not being _enough_ , it's about having his head held underwater by the very hands he wishes would pull him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this ended up long, didn't it...(compared to all the others, heh). Accidental, but let's pretend I did it on purpose because it's midterm season and I probably won't update for awhile. Sssssh. Just pretend I'm that good at planning.
> 
> (Thank you for reading~)


	5. Need someone to numb the pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zayn tries to forget, and Liam doesn't approve.

The first time he smokes alone, he's trying to forget about how he is, once again, sharing Louis.

Well...maybe _sharing_ isn't the right word. He's not really _sharing_ him at all. _Sharing_ would imply that he's got at least _some_ of Louis' attention. _Sharing_ would be too kind a word; it's not the word for what he's got now (and the word for what he's got now, dramatically put, is: nothing).

The Morning After, he woke up to LouisandHarry. The two of them bouncing around, giggling, teasing each other, staring lovingly at the other, like _nothing had happened._ They were back to not allowing more than an inch of space between them at all times.

Like they'd never fought.

Like Harry hadn't spent weeks with red eyes for one reason, and Louis for another.

Like Zayn had never been dragged into it. He's absolutely positive Harry doesn't know about that, and he's not enough of a dick to tell him, but _god_ it pisses him off that Harry's got no idea. Harry's got _no idea_ how _easily_ Louis can turn his affection on and off. Harry's got no idea that while he was _crying by himself,_ Louis was fucking his next most available band mate (oh, how lucky Zayn was to be the chosen one).

It's not as if he didn't expect this; he knew as soon as Louis walked out that last night that things were going to go back to how they had been before Peru. That didn't stop it from stinging, though. Louis' attention is something special when it's focused on you; it's like the sun coming out from behind the clouds on a cold day. When you're standing in the light, you forget to shiver. You forget about the tips of your fingers feeling numb. Hell, you forget that spring is months away. For the few moments that you're in the sun, nothing matters but that _you're in the goddamn sun._

And now the sun's shining somewhere else, and Zayn is absolutely fucking freezing. (Maybe being as high as he is makes him a bit dramatic. Whatever. He has every right to be dramatic right now. Fucking Louis.)

Being cooped up in another god damn hotel isn't helping anything; he can hear Louis and Harry laughing down the hall, for shit's sake, can hear them tossing jokes that aren't _funny_ (at _all_ ) back and forth. He's got his door shut and locked, got his hands pressed over his ears (maybe the high makes him more than a _bit_ dramatic), but he can still hear them.

Having fun. Enjoying themselves. While he's alone, feeling like absolute _shit_ because Louis is manipulative and fickle and--

He's not staying here all night. Not a chance in hell.

He smokes another blunt (he's got plenty to go through, considering Louis left it all in his room. Never bothered coming back for it. He's a changed man now that he's got his husband back, and all) while he waits for their hotel floor to get quiet. Not that he cares if anyone knows he's leaving (everyone'll figure it out pretty quickly whether they watch him walk out or not) it's just...LouisandHarry. Just _hearing_ them makes him want to punch himself in the throat, repeatedly; _seeing_ them would be even worse. _Seeing_ them all over each other. _Seeing_ Louis' eyes float right over him. _Seeing_ how quickly things went right back to normal (and having to acknowledge that he doesn't like normal anymore, not really). 

Soon enough, though it seems to him like hours have gone by, the noise in the hall stops, the sounds of doors closing the only thing to hear. He gets off the bed then, his limbs feeling far too long and heavy, and drags himself out of the room, down the hall, into the elevator. The cheesy music playing as he goes down floor after floor makes him think (for reasons he won’t be able to come up with the next day, he’s sure) of Louis, and he presses the heels of his hands hard into his eyes.

_He’s not going to cry over fucking elevator music, for god’s sake._

He rushes out of the elevator, nearly knocking into a woman holding a baby ("Oh, sorry, cute baby, good job," he stutters as he drags away, charmer and people person that he is). Even in the state he's in, he's not stupid enough to leave through the front doors, so he moves on heavy limbs to the front desk and has the frizzy haired, big eyed woman at the desk take him to the back exit employees use. It feels so good to be outside the hotel, no cameras flashing or people screaming, just crickets chirping and the air laying heavy on him, that he almost sweeps the woman off her feet and takes her on his adventure with him. Someone _always_ goes on his adventures with him. Someone tiny and loud and wispy haired and blue eyed--

He's high. Really high. And really, really sad again. So he walks away from the woman, tossing a mumbled thank you over his shoulder. He's not sure what city he's in, what language everyone speaks, or where he's going: he just keeps walking, bathed in bright lights and sound and the comforting blanket of anonymity. He walks, and he walks, and he walks, and he figures that eventually he'll have to find somewhere to be.

***

After minutes or hours or days (well, maybe not days, because it's been dark the entire time he's been out) he finds himself at a club. The kind exclusive enough to have a guest list, but not exclusive enough to turn you down if you're not on said guest list but you just so happen to be Zayn Malik.

He's three drinks in after fifteen minutes, and everything is warm and hazy and bright and there are people everywhere, some recognizing him and some not, some snapping "discrete" pictures and some not, people pressed into his sides and his back and his front and he feels comforted. By noise, by smoke, by alcohol, by strangers. In the warm, damp, crowd, he breathes easier than he has for hours, for days, for weeks.

He still feels a bit lonely, though, in the weirdest way. He can't lose himself in the warmth and sound and light of the crowd because his phone keeps buzzing in his back pocket, startling him out of his stupor every minute or so (the boys must have noticed he's gone. Someone probably needed to borrow a lighter or something, only to find him gone. Not like anyone would check on him if they didn't need something). There are plenty of people around him, knocking into him, saying pretty things to him because they know who he is, and when you're Zayn Malik, people trip over themselves to kiss your ass. No faces stick with him though, none of the pretty things shiny enough to hold his attention for long.

Until...until his drink is empty, and he's staring sadly at his glass, when, lo and behold, another is being pressed into his free hand. And then the empty glass is being plucked out of his other and put down on the bar, and when he looks up...

Blue eyes. Beautiful, blue eyes, paired with a smirk, and trained on him. His heart picks up, all the movement around him seeming more frenzied, and the air seeming both thinner and thicker suddenly. _Louis. Louis. He came looking for me and...and..._

And, no. This boy is too tall to be Louis and his eyes are more gray than blue, which Zayn can see now that he's had time to blink some of the drunk-high out of his vision. Not Louis. Not Louis at all.

...But. Close enough.

He puts his glass down, full, caring about it less and less every second this boy looks at him through lashes that are thick, but far too short to be Louis'. Not Louis. Close enough to Louis.

"What's Zayn Malik doing out in a little place like this?" The boy asks, speaking loudly to be heard over all the other noise but still somehow sounding smoky and soft. Smokey. Zayn'd like a cigarette, soon. A cigarette and a blunt and a drink. Maybe when he's done talking to Sort Of Louis.

" 'M trying to forget someone," he answers truthfully, the weed and vodka telling him that it's okay to be honest with Kinda Looks Like Louis Tomlinson, since he can't be honest with Actual Louis Tomlinson. Kinda Louis' smirk grows just a bit, pulling his lips apart and exposing his teeth, and Zayn simply watches, not feeling threatened at all by his hungry eyes and greedy gaze. He kind of wants to lose himself in him, honestly. Kind of wants to pretend to be okay for an hour or so.

Which is why he doesn't hesitate when Sorta Louis takes his hand and says, "Maybe I can help with that?" and starts taking him deeper into the writhing, sweaty throng. Which is why he doesn't squirm away from Eh, Good Enough's hands on his waist, but rather presses closer to him, tucking his arms around his neck. Which is why he doesn't mind that their hips are bumping together to the beat of some overplayed Arctic Monkeys song. Which is why, probably, Gray-Blue Eyes' lips feel so good on his neck, why his breath sounds so nice in his ear.

He ignores the buzzing in his pocket, the water in his lungs, the name echoing in his ears and the face behind his eyes that are begging for his attention, and loses himself in unfamiliar hands, unfamiliar tastes, unfamiliar smells and sounds.

Loses himself in it all, giving his mind a rest and not thinking, just acting, in the moment, until he's succeeded and _you know who_ is long forgotten.

***

He'd have kept up the _how long can I go without thinking?_ game forever, if he'd been allowed. He and Looks Enough Like You-Know-Who To Be Satisfying had squirmed against each other for maybe a half hour (maybe longer, maybe shorter, he really doesn't have a damn clue, but a half hour seems like a solid estimate) before giving it up and simply falling into each other, stumbling out of the throng and taking to the wall instead. It's hard and cold against Zayn's back, but it doesn't matter, because Soft Hair And Blue Eyes' hands are warm under his shirt and his mouth and soft and hot on his.

(He knows he's making quite a scene and that this'll probably be everywhere, on every celebrity news blog and in every magazine in existence by tomorrow, but he doesn't care. Can't care.)

He's just realizing that they're getting dangerously close to one of them winding up on their knees in the bathroom when suddenly Pretty Like Him is no longer pressed hard against him, and his fingers are left with nothing to grab and he's cold, really cold. He whines low in his throat, looking for the _why_ to this. Before he can _see_ the _why_ , the _why_ is grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the club. The air is colder than it was when Zayn got in, and he shivers when it hits him, realizing, sadly, that his jacket is somewhere inside. He looks at the _why_ long and hard while his mind gets going again, trying to focus his eyes and figure out who it is.

"...Liam?" He guesses eventually as his eyes adjust to the darkness. His ears ring, not used to how quiet everything is now that he's not inside anymore. His lips feel wet and swollen, his skin slick. 

"We've been looking _bloody everywhere for you_ ," Liam snaps, pulling him over to a car, throwing the door open, and stuffing him, without any finesse or gentleness, inside. He recognizes the unhappy (no, pissed off) looking handler at the wheel, and greets him in a small voice while Liam sits down next to him and shuts the door.

He's tired now that there's no one around, no pounding bass or colorful drinks or dancing, yelling people. He's suddenly so, goddamn tired, his high nearly gone, the alcohol running sluggishly, thickly, through his blood. His throat feels tight suddenly, his skin bruised and touched and foreign. Liam is tense and hard next to him, and he knows everyone's angry with him, but...

But, god, he feels like shit. He doesn't want to be alone. He wants someone to hold him. Tell him it's okay, he's okay, things are okay.

The hard line of Liam's jaw seems to get tighter, harder, when Zayn slides across the backseat and wraps his arms around Liam's middle, presses his face hard into his shoulder, but he doesn't try to push him away. And Zayn is so, so glad, because he's standing dangerously close to the edge of shattering, and the slightest breeze could send him toppling over.

_Everything was so, so bright and pretty a few minutes ago. Bright, pretty, and fake._ He wants it back, and knows he's shit for it, because he gets how scared everyone must have been if they actually came _looking_ for him...

"Sorry," he mumbles into Liam's shirt, knowing that won't do anything to make anyone feel any better but saying it anyway, because what else can he say?

_I was sad. I didn't want to be in the same building as Louis and Harry. I was high. I wasn't thinking. I was thinking too much._

The words have some effect, though, on Liam at least: he becomes softer, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. He lifts one of his arms and tucks it around Zayn's shoulders, tugging the smaller boy closer.

"Good," he says simply, but he doesn't sound angry like he did earlier. The softness in his voice helps Zayn relax; he lets his eyes slip shut, lets the exhaustion grip him just a little tighter.

"Just wanted to forget for awhile," he whispers, because the weed and the vodka and the sleepiness tell him it's okay to be honest with Liam. Liam, who came to find him, who is holding him close, who smells familiar and clean and warm.

Liam, who doesn't say anything back, who doesn't ask _what_ exactly Zayn wanted to forget so badly. Maybe, because he thinks Zayn's just rambling drunk. Maybe, because he already knows. Maybe everyone knows, though he hasn't ever said it outloud. 

Maybe everyone but Louis knows that, for _whatever reason_ , Zayn loves him. Loves him so much, it makes his head pound, makes his heart speed up, makes his palms itch and his skin cold and hot at the same time.

Or, maybe that's just the alcohol. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, but he's tired of thinking, tired of being awake, so he lets his mind shut off one more time, nuzzling his nose into Liam's neck and falling asleep with Louis pushed firmly into the back of his mind, and Liam held firmly in the front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These just keep getting longer and longer. Oops.  
> Also, said "overplayed Arctic Monkeys song" was Do I Wanna Know? just in case anyone wanted to know. *badumtiss*  
> (And, accidental Ziam feels? I regret nothing. ;3)


	6. You're gone and I gotta stay high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Liam thinks history is repeating itself, and Zayn feels inspired.

The second time he smokes without Louis, Liam is watching him disapprovingly (and, maybe, a little sympathetically). It's been a thing ever since the night he snuck out that he and Liam are attached at the hip. It's been doing good things for both of them: Liam's been more relaxed, because if he's constantly attached to Zayn, then he can't just disappear, can't do anything stupid without someone watching out for him; and Zayn's been thinking about Louis less and less, been feeling less and less like running away and not looking back.

Things have been good, even. Their shows have been going well, they've all been having fun, and everything's gone back to normal, for the most part (which doesn't make him nearly as bitter as it did at first). But _only_ for the most part. Louis and Harry still get under his skin more so than they ever have before. He still can't look at or talk to Louis. But it's been fine. Not bad, not great. Just level. Steady.

Until today, that is. Today, which nearly had him punching a certain five foot, blue eyed boy (no, not Niall) in the face. Today, which got him antsy enough to wind up smoking _right in front of Liam_ , the grandmother of the group. Today. Fucking today.

Today, Louis came up to him after their show, talking quickly about something they could do that would be _so funny_ (involving Niall and his hats, from what he'd actually managed to pick up), and usually, he'd be all for it. It would be _so funny._ Today? Today, for obvious reasons, the sound of Louis' voice _alone_ made his hands curls into fists.

"No. Not in the mood," he'd said through a tight jaw, trying to ignore the way Louis' smile had faltered immediately, the way his hands had stilled and fallen to his sides. 

"You alright, Zaynie? Are you mad at me? I haven't talked to you in a while," Louis'd said back, slowly, like he was just realizing this as he was saying it. Like it had _just_ hit him that Zayn had been avoiding him like the plague. Like it wasn't obvious _why._

(Yesterday, he walked in on Louis on his knees in front of Harry-- pretending to propose. He'd nearly shit a brick to beat himself over the head with.)

Like he hadn't been a complete and utter _dick_ lately.

(The morning after Zayn had gone out, he'd woken up, hungover and with a very large, gaping hole punched through his chest, and the first thing Louis had said to him was, "how much did you charge for each hickey you were given? Enough to buy yourself something nice, I hope?")

Like _nothing had happened._

(He still wakes up every morning mulling over the same thing he mulls over every night before going to sleep: how can someone so easily switch their affection towards someone on and off? Why can't he have that talent?)

Needless to say, he and Louis had not ended up doing the thing that would be _so funny;_ instead, he'd turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Louis staring after him with twitchy fingers and a furrowed brow. And now, here he is, giving Liam a second hand high and taking the Louis way out of thinking and feeling: get high, forget your problems exist.

He's succeeding in forgetting, so far. He's explaining to Liam about their next life, and how they'll probably all find each other again, but, maybe not, but, probably. And about how things are probably going to go differently. Maybe they'll be high school students and he'll fall in love with Niall. Maybe Liam'll be a doctor and Louis and Harry will hate each other. Maybe they'll be in a Victorian-esque society where the rich marry their kids off to the richer, and Harry'll marry Niall and they'll be happy and perfect until homewrecker, shit head Louis ruins it--

Alright. So he's not doing a great job of forgetting. Whatever.

"I think my alternate self is probably taking a nap, not studying to be a doctor," Liam offers after the long pause that follows Zayn's rant about Louis being a homewrecker and causing everyone pain and suffering. 

"But _Liam,_ " he gasps, crawling on his hands and knees so he can grab Liam's cheeks between his hands, "you can do _both!_ Nap _and_ be a doctor!"

Liam's cheeks start twitching beneath his hands and he presses his lips into a hard line, clearly trying to keep from laughing. "Alright. I'll nap and be a doctor. What'll you be doing?"

He takes his hands off of Liam's cheeks and throws his arms around his neck instead, and then goes face first into his shoulder. "I...will be painting pictures."

Liam nods, his hands smoothing gently up and down Zayn's back. "You're good at that. Doesn't sound like a half-bad alternate universe, does it?"

He considers that for a moment. No, doesn't sound half-bad. He gets to paint a lot, so...?

But Louis and Harry.

"Guess so. Except Louis and Harry probably fall in love eventually. I think they'd fall in love in every alternate dimension. There's probably a universe right now, where...like...Harry's a girl. And they've got babies." He feels his eyes go wide, in _horror,_ and lifts his head to see if Liam understands how horrific that would be.  
"Tiny _LouisandHarrys everywhere, Liam."_ It's terrifying, honestly.

Liam, though, looks more sad than scared (it is a scary idea though? Curly, blue eyed, monsters of love? God help us all). He's frowning, his eyebrows furrowed and reaching for each other. Zayn forgets about babies immediately, and lifts a hand to gently press one corner of Liam's mouth up. 

He smiles, but just barely. "Ya know, Zayn," he says quietly, cautiously, "I think...most everyone who meets Louis ends up with a thing for him. But everyone gets over it, ya know?"

No. He doesn't know.

But Liam looks concerned and worried and high or not high, he knows not to make that any worse than it already is. So, he drops his head again and nods, his nose brushing Liam's neck as he does. 

Liam's hands have started gently moving up and down Zayn's back again, and after a few quiet moments, he tugs them down, wrapping his limbs around the slimmer boy and holding on tightly. "I just don't want to see you get into any trouble, or anything. Or to get hurt sneaking out. Or whatever."

There's an implied _"all over Louis"_ there, Zayn knows. He knows it, and when he thinks about it...Louis would be a stupid reason for trouble. Especially considering he doesn't care. At all.

"I'll be okay," he mumbles, more to himself than to Liam, glazed eyes focused on Liam's collarbones. They're nice. Strong. Everything about Liam is strong. 

(They're just collarbones. They're really not a big deal. But his mind is cloudy, and they're right in his face, and, just, wow. Liam would have great collarbones in every alternate universe. Wow.)

"I know you will."

The sound rumbles uncertainty in Liam's chest and throat, and Zayn closes his eyes, pressing closer to the warm vibrations. Liam doesn't sound sure, not at all, but it doesn't matter, because it's easy to be convinced when he's all wrapped up and sleepy like this. 

The last thought he has before he falls asleep? _I understand why Louis did what he did, now._

***

When he wakes up, he's curled up in the same position he was in when he fell asleep, with arms still around him. It's nice that Liam stayed; he hadn't expected him to. Not that they weren't close enough to sleep together for a few hours, but. He knows Liam's got more on his schedule than babysitting...yet here he is.

He's smiling before he opens his eyes, ready to mumble a thank you, because he feels warm and safe and loved, and he didn't know how badly he needed to feel that until now. When he does open his eyes, he's looking at collarbones, just like he was when he fell asleep, but--

_It Is What It Is._

His _thank you_ shrivels up and dies on his tongue, and is immediately replaced by a loud, annoyed groan. "Did Liam let you in? Who the _fuck_ let you in??"

"Morning, sunshine," Louis says cheerily, ignoring Zayn's outburst. Of course.

Zayn rolls over, out of Louis' arms, before he gives in to the urge to punch Louis in the balls. Or the face. Or the throat. Or all three. Twice. At least.

Louis doesn't seem to realize how close he is to losing a tooth, or three or four, because he plows right on. He shakes Zayn's shoulder, and then asks, "Are you mad at me?"

For the billionth time in the past week.

As if the answer weren't obvious.

"Are you fucking kidding me."

Louis withdraws his hand, then, and Zayn feels the bed shift as he sits up; he feels Louis eyes fixed on him, can almost see the baffled expression. _Imagine someone being angry at Louis Tomlinson. How strange._

"Is it because of what happened?" He asks finally, his voice serious, sorry. _Sorry._ As if sorry means anything. Bit too late for regret, now.

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me."

He knows he's being a dick, but he can't help it. He doesn't _want_ an apology from Louis; not when he's acting as if he _just_ realized what he did, not when he's only sorry because Zayn's angry, not because he is _hurt._

Hurt so fucking badly, honestly. 

"Zaynie--"

And...no. Fuck it. _No._ He's not going to be buttered up, not going to be manipulated into forgiveness, not going to let Louis pull another _shit_ move on him. No.

He sits up so quickly he startles Louis silent. The smaller boy is giving him a wide, blue, pleading look, begging to be forgiven, begging for all of this to just be _let go._ (And, things would be easier that way, Zayn knows. He could just _let this go._ Pretend it never happened and stop making waves. But...no. No.)

 _"Don't._ Don't even try it. You _led me on--"_

"It's not like I did it on purpose! I didn't go, 'Oh, I bet Zayn'll be mad for me if I suck his--'"

_"Shut up!"_

They're both up now, on either side of the bed, each looking ready to leap across it and knock some sense into the other. Louis' got his arms crossed tight against his chest (it's a defensive position, and it almost makes Zayn smirk, because good. That means he's pushing boundaries, _getting through them._ Poking at things he normally wouldn't. Good.), his blue eyes narrowed into angry slits. 

"It's not like you didn't _know."_ He's trying not to yell anymore, because he doesn't want the entire _floor_ hearing them. The other boys. The crew. 

Not that it's unusual for he and Louis to fight. There's no gray area to how they are with each other: they're either pissing other people off while having a _hell_ of a time together, or they're pissing each other off doing...nothing at all, really. They're either the best of friends, or they can't stand each other.

But this, well. This is a little different, isn't it?

"Zayn, I _didn't._ I didn't know you were making so much of it!" There it is again: that pleading in Louis' voice. Louis doesn't like having people mad at him. He never has. He pushes and pushes and pushes, and then gets upset when he finally gets a reaction.

He's such an ass.

"You did, though, is the thing! Because _everyone else_ noticed! Liam fucking noticed! Hell, I bet _Harry_ noticed." 

Louis has gone _white_ , from his face to his knuckles, fingers wrapped tightly around his arms. He looks shocked. He looks like someone who just got caught in the act by his wife. "No. Harry doesn't know. Harry _can't_ know, Zayn, he'd be so hurt--"

Louis is silenced by a pillow smacking dully into his face, and his expression would be comical, if Zayn’s blood wasn’t pumping so violently in his ears, if his hands weren’t shaking, begging to hit something. _“I’m fucking hurt! Why the fuck don’t you care about me?! You’re supposed to be my best mate!”_

"I am your best mate! I just...I didn't know!"

"You know _now!_ You're not even trying to fix things! You're just _making excuses!"_

(His chest hurts, and in the back of his mind, he's thinking about how he hates fighting with Louis. Everything is so good between them when they're not fighting.

He misses things being good. Easy.

He doesn't think they'll be getting that back any time soon.)

Louis picks up the pillow that Zayn'd thrown at him and throws it back; it misses by a mile and thunks uselessly against the wall. Despite the situation, Zayn huffs out a laugh (because Louis is his best friend, because he's got shit aim when he's not focused, because this is ridiculous, the whole thing is ridiculous). He can feel himself, slowly losing his momentum, slowly becoming less and less angry. 

Not forgiving. Just...not angry.

"I have been trying! You won't let me fix anything! Every time I try talking to you you act like I don't _exist._ I had to fill Niall's hats with glitter _by myself! By. My. SELF!"_

"Boohoo," Zayn says flatly, crossing his arms moodily across his chest. Louis throws another pillow, misses yet again, and then starts taking tiny, angry steps closer.

"That's what I _mean!_ You act like you care _so much_ about all of this but you _won't let me be sorry!"_

"Guilting me into forgiving you via _Niall's hats_ does not equal _sorry!"_

Louis seems to realize then that talking is going to get him no where, is only going to make things worse. Zayn watches him quietly, waiting for the next wave of bullshit; he waits through Louis pressing his lips together tightly, glaring at the wall out of the corners of his eyes. He waits through a huff of annoyance, and a restless shift. 

And then Louis decides the next act he wants to try, and like a switch being flipped, darkening a room, he's started: the line of his shoulders softens, curves, his bottom lip juts out, he peeks up at Zayn, eyes wide and very blue, through his eyelashes. He brings a small hand to Zayn's elbow at the same time he sighs an apologetic _"Zaynie."_ and his fingers move, soft and sure, towards Zayn's own hand, looking to lock their hands together. Looking to deceive and ruin and win.

(It'd be so easy to let him win. To hold his hand. To hold _him._ Louis'd tell a sly joke, get Zayn to laugh. They'd be better. Next time Louis wanted to defile Niall's hats, or maybe Liam's, or maybe even tie all of Harry's scarves together, or something, they'd do it together. 

Together. Like best friends.

Like nothing more, nothing less.

It'd be so easy to pretend that'd be okay. He wants to. Wants to hold Louis' hand so _fucking_ badly and pretend to be loved for a bit, for until Harry interrupts--) 

He takes a jerky step back, and Louis' hand falling to his side, knocking against his thigh, makes a sharp, surprised sound.

"You're so full of shit," Zayn snaps, voice like a whip. It makes Louis jump, the sharpness; he'd expected that to work. 

It could have. It nearly did. Nearly.

" _Honestly,_ Louis! You're so...you make yourself out to be _so much._ Think you can get away with _everything_ because you're _Louis Tomlinson_ and who _couldn't_ love you?"

Zayn would never admit out loud that it's true. For the most part. 

That pout, that stupid (sad, soft, lovely) fucking pout, is still stuck on Louis' face, his eyes even wider now than they were before. 

" _I_ thought that you were so much! But you're just...you're _fake_. It's all an act, innit, Lou? You're one big, fucking act, because without it you know no one would want you."

He knows he's crossed a line when Louis' lip begins trembling and his eyes fill up, wet and shining. Can't bring himself to care, though. He likes this unfamiliar territory. It makes his heart pound, makes his hands shake.

This unfamiliarity makes him feel like Louis did, all those nights, hours, minutes they spent together in the dark, in the quiet. It makes him feel confident, like he's got a grip on the situation. Like Louis can't hurt him as long as he's hurting Louis.

_And a part of him really means everything he's saying. A part of him knows it's true (or wants it to be, at least). A part of him knows Louis makes himself out to be big, and shiny, and worthy, when really, he's not._

"I wouldn't, at least. I _don't._ "

_And a part of him really means that, because Louis is a pretty lie, a beautiful nightmare, a shiny dud._

Louis quickly swipes his fists under his eyes, his sleeves pulled down over his hands, mumbling out a shaky, "okay." He looks devastated. Truly wrecked, emotion raw on his face, uncensored, uncut, real. 

It makes Zayn's chest tighten; it almost makes him feel guilty.

Almost.

_But not quite, because Louis...he and Louis together...looked amazing at first glance. He saw something there, thought they'd both get something out of it. Thought he'd found something worth giving himself over to._

_He'd been so, so wrong. He'd...he'd thought he'd struck gold, but he was wrong. He'd unearthed fool's gold, at best._

"Right," Louis tries again, trying to clear the thickness from his throat, "right, well...right. You've made your point. I'm a useless fake, you're a fucking dick. Right."

The door shutting softly behind Louis sounds louder than the words. The gentle _click_ sounds more final than anything either of them had said.

_He doesn't feel bad at all. They were fool's gold, at best._

In the silence, he taps a melancholy beat on his thigh with his fingers. _Fool's gold._

He whips around, throws the door open, and stares at Louis' room, down the hall, door shut firmly. 

He moves the other way, knocks quickly on Liam's door, which opens almost immediately. "Are you okay? I heard you and Louis--"

He cuts Liam off with a sharp shake of the head. Because it doesn't matter. At all.

"D'you have paper? I've got an idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quality of this (or lack thereof) in no way excuses how long this took. Oops.


	7. To forget I'm missing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Liam and Louis break, and Zayn can only hold so many broken pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I've got a good excuse as to why this took so long. I haven't had time to do much except sleep, eat, bus tables, and sing show tunes. The norm.  
> There's no excuse for how much this sucks though so, I'll just apologize in advance. Godspeed my sons

The last time he smokes, Liam joins in. And it’s weird as hell, honestly, to have Liam curled into his side, eyes glazed and far away, talking softly about things that don’t make sense, but considering Zayn’s just as high, he’s finding it hard to be too upset about the situation. This isn't even the weirdest thing to happen today, which says...well, it says a lot. Daddy Direction has a blunt in his hands, and it's _not_ the weirdest thing that happened today. Jesus.

***

First off all, when he woke up this morning, Harry was sprawled across the end of the bed, his feet dangling off one end and his arms off the other. His initial thought was, _"how do they always get in? I lock the bloody door,"_ and immediately after he'd thought, _"please god tell me I didn't sleep with him too."_

And then Harry had spoken, and the day had only gotten worse from there. 

"Louis' being really, really stroppy, and he says you don't like him anymore. Do you not like Louis anymore?"

Well, shit. He's not sure he _does_ like Louis anymore. Of course he _loves_ him. Kind of like...how you _have_ to love your family, whether they've given you reason to or not (maybe it's a bit weird to be referring to Louis as family at this point? Whatever). But as far as _liking_ him goes...his affections had shifted, changed their nature, and Louis had let them and then let him down. So, no. He doesn't like Louis, not right now at least. He's sure he will again, because they're meant to be best friends and best friends are meant to bounce back from everything, but for now...

He's not exactly sure how to put that into words for Harry without telling him that he's in love with his longtime boyfriend, so he just grunts and shoves his feet into Harry's side, nudging him dangerously close to falling off the bed.

Harry makes a wounded noise and advances his attack, crawling up the bed and wrapping his octopus limbs around Zayn and holding tight (a Harry in his natural habitat: squeezing information out of his victims). "I know you and Louis haven't been talking, and like, I don't know if you're fighting? Or what? But you aren't going to...I don't know. Niall thinks you're gonna quit the band, and then if you quit Liam'll quit, and then Louis'll be mad and quit, and then I'll have to quit and then Niall'll be all alone and I don't think he'll handle it really well, probably just keep calling us all to like, propose song lyrics and stuff, so, I dunno, if you're thinking about leaving--"

"Don't be a twat. I'm not quitting." (Not yet, anyway. He'll have to see how things are once they get back from their break, after the tour. See if everything's worked itself out or not. And hopefully it will have, because he loves this, he loves _doing_ this, but if things get worse between he and Louis...well. Hopefully they won't.)

"Oh. Okay." Harry's grip loosens, and Zayn's beginning to think he's out of the woods, when,  
"Louis' not quitting, is he?"

For god's sake.

"Don't you think Louis'd have told you if he was planning on quitting?" Zayn asks. He means for it to be a stupid question, the kind that can only be answered by saying something like, "oh, yeah. Duh," but instead, he's met with a pout and sad green eyes, and he knows he's opened a new can of worms. 

He never volunteered to be a couples’ counselor, he doesn't know why he keeps getting stuck as one.

"Dunno. We don't really, like, talk anymore. I guess. I mean we talk but he doesn't...tell me things. If that makes sense."

"Yeah." (It does, because he and Louis have spent hours talking since Peru, about...nothing. High ramblings, sleepy babblings. And Louis, Louis makes rambling and babbling feel like they have meaning, but once they got quiet, Zayn would realize they hadn't said much at all. Louis fills people up with nothing, and then leaves them wondering how they could possibly feel so empty.)

"Can I tell you something?" Harry asks after a thoughtful moment, his octopus death grip back.

_"Yeah."_

_"Before Peru...well, do you remember the boy outside the hotel?"_

_What._

_"Uh...which one? No?" Why would he? It's not like they linger outside their hotels. They don't have time for lingering outside their hotels with random boys._

_(Well. _Most of them_ don't, apparently.)_

_"Okay...well, see, when we got to that hotel? Before we flew into Peru? ...Where was that?" Harry's started squirming, bumping the top of his head into Zayn's chin, trying to find a place to lay his head. Zayn is anything but amused, but tilts his head back anyway._

_"Dunno."_

_"Right," Harry says slowly once he's comfortable, "doesn't matter. Anyway, when everything died down, Louis wanted to leave, go for a walk or something, I dunno, he's seemed really restless the entire tour, I guess, so I told him I'd go with him. I didn't want him to like, go by himself?"_

_Zayn's resigned himself to an hour of storytelling before Harry gets the point, so he nods his head patiently._

_"But then Niall lost something, I think his phone, so I was helping him look, and I guess Louis got impatient so he left without me, and I kind of expected him to be long gone by the time I got outside? And I was really worried, like, I hate when you bunch disappear without telling anyone where you're going. Like when you left the other night, Zayn, I thought you weren't coming back and then Liam said he found you with some guy and I was really scared, I thought maybe something had happened and I didn't want you to regret it and you could've been hurt, and--"_

_"Harry," he groans, because he can only be so patient for so long, and that night isn't one he wants to think about right now. Or ever again, really._

_"Right. Sorry. So, anyway, when I got outside he was still around the back of the hotel? Like, I could hear him talking to someone, and I thought maybe...I dunno, maybe you'd left with him, or something, but then I got around back and I didn't recognize the boy, and...I dunno. I guess I can just, like, tell when Louis' interested in someone. He's not subtle about it, or anything."_

_Zayn's breath catches in his throat and he's hit with a wave of guilt, because...could Harry tell that, even though the attraction didn't last long and even though it was mostly fake, mostly, that Louis'd wanted him? Could he tell, but he hadn't allowed himself to think about it?_

_Because what kind of friend sleeps with their best friend's boyfriend, right?_

_"And, um...I kind of just hung back. I didn't want to interrupt, or anything, they were just talking, but...I mean, I probably should have since I was upset? I dunno. Like...I mean I know how he gets? With...everyone? And I know I'm kind of the same way, when I fancy someone it's pretty obvious, but. But. He _knows_ I wouldn't ever do anything because, I mean...I love him. Just him."_

_Oh, god._

_"Sometimes I just...wonder. If he only loves me?"_

__Shit._ _

_He wonders if Harry can feel his pulse racing in his throat. He wonders if he knows._

_"But anyway," Harry says, his voice a little quieter now, a little sadder, "he and this boy, they just...kept talking, and Louis kept switching his weight, like, doing that thing with his hips? If you know what I mean...? You probably don't."_

_"Nah, sorry." Except he does, because he's caught Louis doing it while talking to him, caught him dancing on stage and twirling his hips and then checking to see if Zayn's watching, caught him doing all kinds of things like that, just to get a reaction. Before Peru, he really might not know what Harry was talking about, but now, it's one of those things he can picture clearly in his head._

_One of those things he's thought about too much, lately._

_"S'okay. Didn't expect you to. And, like, even that was fine. Louis' just...not quiet...about when he finds someone attractive? I dunno. It never means much. But then, like...he started _giggling._ Like, full on _giggling_. And I know it shouldn't have bothered me so much but making Louis laugh is kind of a special thing and I didn't like it so I finally called out to him and I smiled like I hadn't been there for long but I had been and I don't know, it put me in a bad mood and he could tell and eventually he asked what was wrong and I had to tell him, because, like, I can't lie and especially not to him, and...I dunno. He freaked out, a little."_

_(He thinks back on how lost Harry looked in Peru, at the arena, in the dressing room. He thinks about how he hung back, waiting for Louis to fall back next to him, to pay attention to him, and how that never happened. Because Louis had been too busy molding himself to Zayn, and pressing distracting lips against Zayn's skin in the dressing room.)_

_"He like...got really moody, like, really bitter? And he said that...he and I aren't even together. So he doesn't have to just have me. And he's not...I mean, it's not like he's wrong."_

_He feels something wet and hot on his neck, and he jumps. He's dealt with Harry crying more than he had any of the other boys, but he's not an _expert_ on dealing with it. Louis is._

_But of course, Louis' the reason behind the tears, so how much help could he be, really?_

_"He shouldn't have said that." Zayn can't think of anything better to say; he doesn't feel he's got the right to try and comfort Harry. He doesn't. He definitely doesn't._

_"I know. I know. And it's like...ever since, he's been acting really weirdly, and...I know this going to sound dumb, okay, but...I think there might be someone else. I dunno who, but...just kinda seems that way."_

_Zayn can think of two appropriate ways of reacting to this situation: the first, screaming, the second, shoving a pillow over his face so Harry can't see the look on his face._

_He opts for the latter._

_"And, another thing about it is, it's not like I don't want to be with him? I mean, technically I am, but I've like, wanted to put a lable on it since X-Factor? And he won't because things are complicated enough already and I get it. I do. But, like...I'm still his. I've always been his. I just wish he'd act like he's mine, too. But I dunno if he wants to be anymore."_

_If he pressed on the pillow hard enough, could he smother himself?_

_"What do you think, Zayn...?"_

_He thinks he's been a shit friend. He thinks Louis' been a shit friend. He thinks they're shit together, bad to each other and to everyone else. He thinks he wishes that nothing had ever happened. He thinks he wishes he could comfort Harry without feeling like a two-faced asshole. He thinks he wishes he could make everything right: fix Louis, fix Harry, fix himself._

_"I think...that it's just stress. From the tour. And things'll get better when it's over."_

_He thinks he's a liar. He thinks he doesn't like himself much anymore._

_But Harry is nodding on top of him, his grip still tight and his eyes still wet, and Zayn feels horrible, because he believes him, Harry believes him and he shouldn't. He shouldn't._

_"Yeah," Harry mumbles softly, "I hope you're right."_

__

***

Second of all, he was faced with the serious side of Niall as soon as he was done with Harry, which would have been uncomfortable even if he hadn’t just spent the last hour with Harry crying on his shirt.

“Morning, Zayn!” Niall’d chirped, bursting through the door just as Harry was sulking out of it. And Niall, well, Niall is the sun with legs, but chirpy as he sounded, Zayn knew. He could see it in his eyes that something was wrong enough to have crossed Niall’s radar, and whatever it was...he really didn’t feel like dealing with it. He unapologetically did _not_ want to put up with anything else right now.

 _Also:_ when did his room become free reign? _Seriously?_

He grunts in response and goes digging through one of his bags for a fresh shirt. He's got Harry's sadness all over the one he'd been wearing. 

"Gonna have a great show tonight," Niall says, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, energy seeming to seep from his pores and look disdainfully at Zayn's _lack_ of energy. Fuck it if he cares. It's ten in the morning and he's already done.

"Yep."

He walks into the bathroom, hoping that'll be enough of a hint to Niall that he isn't in the mood for talking, especially about whatever's keeping Niall's eyes cloudy, contrasting his sunshine and energy and smiles. He starts fiddling with his hair, staring firmly at himself in the mirror (when did the bags under his eyes get so noticeable? He's going to fucking pieces. Louis has ripped him to _shreds_ ). He almost thinks he's in the clear (but of course he's not, he never is, not lately) when Niall swings into the bathroom and hops onto the sink. 

Fuck's sake. He knows what's coming now. _"Harry thinks Louis is cheating on him and I'm pretty sure he is. With you. Because you're a shit friend."_

"So. About Liam."

...oh?

"What about him?" Zayn asks, honestly curious now. He'd thought Liam was fine. Nothing's _seemed_ wrong, but if Niall's worried...

"He's definitely in love. No doubt in my mind our little Liam is _in love."_

_...oh?_

"That's...good? Really great. Good for him."

He's relieved, honestly because he'd thought something was wrong, and he wasn't sure he could handle Louis', Liam's, Harry's, _and_ his own problems all at once, it's all too much as it is--

"Aren't you gonna ask me who _with?_ "

Niall's voice is uncomfortably sharp, and when Zayn glances up at him, his eyes are still cloudy and serious, and, oh. Maybe this isn't good. 

"...you?"

That'd be a decent reason for this seriousness, wouldn't it? Because Niall's straight, as far as he knows, so he'd have to let Liam down really gently. ...But Liam's straight too, isn't he? Are any of them straight? Maybe it's Eleanor. That'd be a problem--

"No. I don't know, honestly, not for sure," he pauses and Zayn nods slowly, wondering if he's missing something, or if there's nothing to miss, when Niall adds, "I thought maybe you'd know, since you two've been together so much, and all."

...oh?

Oh.

_Oh._

"Shit."

He hadn't thought about this before, hadn't even considered it to be a possibility, but now that he thinks about it, Liam has been acting differently. Softer, in a way. Like everything between the two of them is less of a joke and more of a necessity, like he's nursing a flame that could die out at any second. Zayn'd been catching him staring and thought nothing of it; Liam had gotten a bit more distant every time Zayn would bring Louis up. Harry had been giving them knowing looks, and Zayn had been looking back in confusion.

And, oh. Yeah.

"Yeah, shit. Like, I don't mind. I've just been paying attention and I don't think you feel the same way, do you...?"

He knows Niall's not angry with him about it (because that would be stupid and Niall has never been unrational). He knows he's just trying to look after Liam. He appreciates it, honestly. The _last_ thing he wants is to hurt Liam and be blind to it.

But. He wonders if Niall had this same talk with Louis. He wonders if anyone tried looking out for him before...well. Before everything went to shit.

He kind of doubts it.

"No," Zayn mumbles softly, pulling his fingers through his hair because everything is a mess, everyone is a mess, "I don't."

He and Liam...would be perfect together. He knows that for sure. Because Liam has always been there for him, even when he's picked Louis over him because Louis had seemed more exciting. Liam had always been gentle with him, taking naps with him in the car, waking him up with a gentle shake to the shoulder, giving him hugs when he's moody, clapping, awed, after every high note he sings, whether it sounded like shit or not. Liam has always been his, more than he is the other boys, and Zayn's always known it. He just didn't expect it to turn into...this.

He wishes he could return the feelings. He wants to want Liam, now that he knows. They'd be perfect.

Instead, he's hung up on Louis. And he and Louis? They're the opposite of perfect. 

"I figured. Just...be careful with him?"

_Be careful with him._

"I will."

_Be careful with him._

If Louis had been careful with him, this might not be a problem at all.

Maybe Louis doesn't know what careful is.

(Maybe Zayn isn't sure, either.)

***

And the last thing? The icing on the cake, the _cherry on top?_

Louis held his hand in front of Liam, in front of Niall, in front of _Harry_. In front of _thousands of people._ And Zayn? Zayn had fucking let him.

They were on stage, and the concert had been going well, all things considered. He and Louis couldn't look at each other, which was different, and Zayn could tell the audience could tell, but what could they do about it? Last time Zayn had talked to Louis, he'd made him cry. Acting like best friends just for the show wouldn't have exactly been _easy._

But other than that, things were fine. Louis threw water at Liam and Harry twirled on stage and Niall worshipped his guitar and Zayn hit high notes and looked pretty. The usual.

That is, until the energy in the arena became less erratic and more like the beat of a strong and steady heart, and everything was somehow softer and heavier, and all the boys were lined up, standing proudly in front of their mic stands.

Louis was small and sullen to his right, Liam solid and serious to his left.

_"I figured it out, I figured it out from black and white..."_

This song has always been Louis' and Harry's; they wrote the refrain together, gathered the other boys together one morning absolutely _glowing_ and all too pleased with themselves and said, "look what we did".

Zayn thought it was brilliant, obviously, but he'd snickered a bit at the time. It was so...typically Louis and Harry. So typically full of a desperate longing for each other.

_"You and I, we don't want to be like them. We can make it till the end, nothing can come between you and I..."_

The way Harry sings the lyrics now makes him cringe just a bit, because there's even more longing than before, and just the slightest touch of hurt. 

Louis' tense next to him, and Zayn knows he can hear it too.

But he can't think about Louis right now, he can't, he's got to focus on his words, on singing his words and that's it. Nothing else.

When he sings, he hopes Louis can't hear anything in it. He hopes no one hears that he's just as hurt as Harry, and Liam, probably, and Louis. 

What a fucking shit show.

_"I see what it's like, I see what it's like for day and night. Never together, 'cause they see things in a different light like us. They never tried like us."_

Louis' voice holds all the abandonment in the world, and it cracks and shakes and Zayn closes his eyes to keep from glancing at either him or Harry. 

Or Liam. Especially not Liam, because as bad as things are between he and Louis and as bad as things _could get_ between him and Harry, things could get even worse between him and Liam. He knows how careful he has to be now, knows he's got to work to make it clear (in a gentle way, because fuck, if he makes Liam cry he'll never forgive himself) that everything they've been doing (falling asleep in the same bed, always having a hand on each other, not wanting to sit with anyone but each other, never leaving the other alone...) has been platonic. Purely platonic.

He loves Liam so much, just, not in the right way.

(In the back of his mind, he knows that's how Louis loves him, and he knows he's been angry about it and now he's being a hypocrite, but he refuses to entertain those thoughts. Fuck Louis.)

His mind is only half on the song now, but he tries to focus in when he can feel his high not coming up; even that only takes half a thought, though, this is all so routine by now. Show after show they hit the same notes, sing the same words, do the same things--

So when a small hand snakes into his, curls its fingers around his own and holds on tight enough to squeeze the breath out of both of them, forcing all the air up their arms and through their chests and out of them mouths in sharp gasps, it surprises him so much that his note gets cut off half way.

And his head whips to the right and he's looking at eyes as wide as his own, framed by thick lashes and wispy hair.

He thinks Louis might be crying.

He thinks he might be just as close to breaking.

But Louis' hand shakes in his own, and as uncertain as it feels, it's the most comforting touch he's felt in days.

He wonders if Liam can tell.

***

Presently, Liam is slack and warm in his arms, and it still isn't weird enough to ruin his high. Liam's comfortable and cuddly and Zayn probably wouldn't move even if this was weird.

He's been thinking about the Liam situation a lot lately (lately as in, for however long he's been high, which had either been for a very short time or a very long time, he isn't sure), and he's decided that he's not going to say anything. Or do anything. He's just going to let it go, and the bomb should diffuse itself while they're all on break and not around each other for awhile.

Does he think that'll help with his feelings for Louis? No.

But should it help with Liam's feelings for him. Of course. Why wouldn't it?

He's feeling confident about it; really confident about it, even. Once they're back from break and writing again everything will be back to normal. Liam will be straight as a post, Louis and Harry will be back to staring lovingly at each other, Niall will be a worriless ray of sunshine, and Zayn, well, Zayn will be sitting back and appreciating the normalcy, because that's what things will be, _normal--_

"I get lost in your beauty..."

Zayn's stomach drops out from under him and all of a sudden, Liam isn't so comfortable anymore.

(Break. They all need a break.)

"What, Li?"

"Our song. Thought of a lyric for our song. I'll write it down later..."

_Our song._

Zayn had been writing about Louis.

(After break, everything will be fine. He's sure of it.)

(Niall will be a worriless ray of sunshine again.)

About Louis, because Louis had made him feel like...nothing. Like he was nothing.

(Liam will be straight as a post, probably be talking about missing his girlfriend.)

About Louis, because Louis had gotten his hopes up and then left him feeling empty.

(Louis and Harry will be staring lovingly at each other. Because Louis loves Harry. Always has.)

But maybe Liam hadn't been writing with him.

(Zayn will be appreciating the normalcy. Zayn will not be angry anymore. He won't.)

Maybe Liam had been writing about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's that.  
> I've decided the end is near! How am I going to wrap this all up?  
> Who knows.  
> Do you know?
> 
> I sure as hell don't.


	8. I fall back down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zayn gives up.

When he zips his bags up for the final time, he hears bells. Like death tolls, but gentler. Softer, lighter, tinkling little bells. It doesn't hurt at all to wonder why that may be. It doesn't bother him to know that this may be the _very last time_ he ever does this, ever packs for the final time after months of traveling and performing, traveling and performing. He thinks he needs a break, and he doesn't think a few weeks will be enough.

He doesn't think anyone would listen if he tried saying that, though, so he won't. He'll keep quiet about it and try ignoring it and he'll keep traveling and he'll keep performing and it'll be fine. Everything will be fine.

(Except, nothing's fine right now, nothing at all. But if he tries ignoring it, it will be.)

He leaves his hotel room clean. He doesn't think he slept in it once while they were here, wherever _here_ is. He was with Liam every night. Even knowing what he does (that Liam, sensible, smart Liam, is infatuated, for whatever reason, with him), he stayed with him the whole time they were here. Slept with him every night, curled against his chest, as if they meant something. He knew they didn't. Whether Liam did or not is another question.

For years, people have been telling him that he and Louis are a terror together, because they're too much alike. They're _too much_ , period. For years, they've been grouped together. Every time something happened (be it a serious problem or not), it's been assumed automatically that they'd done it. He and Louis were seen as the same; always together, always doing something they shouldn't have been. He'd never minded it before.

But when he sees Louis now, as the other boys and their crew step into the hall, ready to fly home, ready for a break, he finds he can hardly look at him. Years of being attached to the boy's side, years of laughing at their own jokes together, years of being considered the same, years of being partners, and now...now when he looks at Louis, he feels nothing but an uneasy dislike. 

He wonders how, and if, he'll get over that.

Day One

They get to London late, snapping at each other because they flight had been delayed and they were sick of delays, of being together, of being tired, of not being home. But. They're all looking a bit guilty for snapping, too, because they all know they'll miss each other ten minutes after being apart.

(Well, maybe not all of them.)

Not that they really will be apart, because Louis and Harry are going home together as usual, and Niall's going back to Liam's for the night so he can get some sleep before flying to Ireland to meet up with the Horan clan.

So it's just Zayn that's going to be alone, really. For tonight, the other four will be together in pairs, and he will be alone.

(He's finding that he doesn't mind, not at all.)

***

His flat feels like a tomb.

When he finally arrives, both eager to get in and dreading opening the door, the place he calls home though he’s homesick for it more than he’s here looks unfamiliar. He feels, strangely, like he’s never been here at all, like he’d left a different person than he is coming home.

The door sticks when he tries opening it. Maybe he should’ve gone home with Liam and Niall. Maybe he’d rather throw his shoulder into the wood than have to act like he’d miss them the next day, when he’d have to go home, when he’d stop having the choice to put this off.

When he finally pushes his way inside, the air is thick with dust. It feels gritty in his lungs but somehow he breathes easier now than he has in months, even though his chest is tight because he doesn't feel like he lives here. He doesn't feel like anyone's ever lived here. But these are his things that he left behind months ago. Years ago, even.

(He thinks he gave up home when he first joined the band, but he'd found it again. Four separate homes in four separate personalities, four separate faces, four separate boys. Home was something they each held in their chests, near their hearts. But he'd still felt so homesick on tour. He'd still felt lost, lonely.)

(He wonders when, exactly, they stopped being his home.)

His bedroom is the worst. The darkest, the dustiest, the quietest. His bed is made up perfectly, just like he left it; it looks as if no one’s ever slept in it. It looks uninviting. It looks like it could swallow him up if he laid on it. It looks like he could lay down on it and it’d never let him get back up, never let him move or speak or think again.

He throws himself onto it, finding himself disappointed by the way he doesn’t even sort of sink into the stiff mattress. 

The ceiling is gray in the darkness. A spider sits serenely in the corner, finding comfort in the empty feeling of the room. His home, a little, neatly crafted web, hangs under him, waiting to grab unsuspecting victims.

He thinks of Louis and squeezes his eyes shut. 

Sleep. What he needs is sleep; he feels like he hasn't slept in months. He hasn't, really. Never does on tour. He's always up, always moving. He just needs to sleep and stay still for a while.

(Maybe the constant touring is the only reason he put his "home" in the boys' hands. Maybe he had to in order to survive, because with all the movement, he had nowhere still to call his. They were his only constants.)

And then tomorrow, he'll brush the dust off of everything and enjoy the time alone. God knows he won't have much of it.

(Maybe that's half the problem. Maybe he doesn't want things to be that way. Maybe it's not working anymore.)

That's that. He'll enjoy it, goddammit, before it's gone.

(Maybe, just maybe, it's time for everything to change.)

(Or maybe he's just tired.)

Eyes closed and body still, he wills his mind to be quiet. He wills it to let him go, if only for a few hours. Just a few. 

(Maybe, maybe.)

Day Two

He wakes up on his own instead of to an alarm (or a yelling bandmate) for the first time in months. He wonders briefly why he put up with waking up any other way for so long. He wonders briefly if he'll ever let himself wake up that way again.

The room is uncomfortably stuffy and bleak and he finds himself craving something bright, something warm. He rolls out of bed, stumbling over his own two feet when the floor doesn't move underneath him (like sea legs, but worse...tour legs?). The curtains covering his windows are drawn tightly. He thinks he probably should've left them open; maybe the room wouldn't be so dark, maybe it wouldn't feel so oppressive. When he pulls then open now, he hopes (expects, almost) to be blinded by the early sun.

Outside, gray rain is drizzling from gray clouds onto gray street.

_Of course._ He shifts forward, leans his forehead against the cool glass. His breath collects on the glass, fogs over the dreary image in front of him. He holds his breath until he can see it again; in the clear reflection, he sees his phone light up on his bedside table. It’s the brightest thing in the room.

With a sigh that makes the rain invisible again, he turns away from the window. Maybe it’s his mum, wondering when he’ll be over to see her and his sisters. Maybe it’s Niall, wondering if he’s up for a drink and a chat. Maybe it’s Liam, just checking in, the way that he does because he worries, because he cares. The thought makes him want to ignore the text. He’d rather Liam not care.

_Tommo_ is printed neatly across the screen. _Tommo_ , the brightest thing in the room.

Against his better judgment, he picks the phone up (and it’s much heavier, he thinks, suddenly much heavier than it usually is) and opens up the text. He isn’t sure what he’s hoping for. An apology? An invitation (‘Z, wanna smoke and hook up one more time?’)? A declaration of affection?

_Z , would love to have a chat before things pick up again . Call me when you’ve got a minute ?_

Last night, Zayn had gotten into the back seat of a dim car by himself, hauling a heavy bag over his shoulder. Last night, he’d watched London from behind a tinted window, and he’d felt removed from everything around him, and no one had been with him in the quiet to pull him out of his head. Last night, Louis had crawled into a car after Harry, barely sparing the time to send Zayn a wave. Last night, Louis went back to an apartment that was warm, probably, and felt homey, probably, and got into bed with someone hopelessly in love with him, definitely.

For weeks, Zayn’s felt sick in his head, sick to his stomach, sick at his very core. 

_Fuck you._

He types it out once, twice, three times, before deleting it, before turning his phone off, before tugging his curtains shut, because fuck it, the sun’s not coming out today.

(He wonders when it will, when it will finally stop raining.)

Day Three

_Any chance I could stay at yours tonight ?_

He gets the text on the steps of the art gallery not far from his flat. A few feet away, someone’s taking ‘discrete’ pictures of him. He came to see the paintings and sculptures displayed inside, but instead, he feels like he’s on display. He doesn’t feel much like a piece of art though. Feels more like an animal in a zoo, like he belongs in a cage. 

He’d thought, maybe, that being around beautiful things would help him feel better; art was only second to singing in his life, and he’d needed to focus on something other than his career with the other boys for a while. He doesn’t feel any better, though. Feels more regretful, like if, maybe, he’d decided to be an artist instead of a singer, he’d be happier. Hell, maybe if he’d decided to be a _teacher_ instead of a singer, he’d be happier. Maybe anything would be better than what he’s stuck with now.

He never answered Louis’ text about the ‘chat’ he wants to have. Thinking about talking to Louis makes him feel sick to his stomach. Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to face the situation they’re in head-on now that he’s been removed from it. Or, maybe, it’s that Louis himself (tiny, pretty, soft, manipulative, greedy Louis) is sickening.

He doesn’t think he’ll answer this one, either; not that he’s just being stubborn or spiteful (that does have _something_ to do with it, though, he won’t pretend it doesn’t), but because this is exactly what went wrong in the first place: Louis got himself into a mess, and came running to Zayn to fix it, and Zayn, idiot that he is, took things _too far_ , and now everything’s _shit._

Louis and Harry must be fighting, and Louis doesn’t know what to do about it. Must just want out of their apartment, because all that Louis’ good at is running from things.

(Then again, Zayn’s been avoiding Niall and Liam’s texts too. He’s been avoiding his family. He’s sat outside an art museum sulking because all the complexity made him think, and thinking had become dangerous. So maybe he’s just as bad as Louis and twice as hypocritical.

Regardless…)

He deletes the text, stands up, brushes dirt off of the back of his jeans. He doesn’t bother to smile for the camera when he walks by the lone paparazzi. The media’s become tiring. He’s not sure he cares what it thinks of him anymore.

(He’s not sure he wants it to know his name or his face anymore.)

_Zayn ._

(He thinks he might want to disappear from it, become irrelevant. He thinks that could be easy.)

_Please ?_

(He thinks he may try it.)

Day Four

Louis is unavoidable.

Currently, he’s curled up in Zayn’s bed, hair as soft as his breathing. Zayn wasn’t able to sleep all night. He’d tried with Louis’ back pressed against his chest; failure. He’d tried laying on his back with his arms tucked close to his sides so he’d avoid touching the smaller boy; failure. He’d tried face down on the couch; failure.

And the reason for all those failures is sleeping peacefully between sheets that he’s got no right to be touching. Zayn’s too exhausted to be angry about it, though.

Louis’d showed up at his door at two in the morning, hands shoved into his pockets and a frown on his face. “Your phone break?” He’d asked, sounding petulant and tired and lonely.

Zayn had smothered his guilt and answered, “No, but I’ve been getting texts from a blocked number, lately. Weird, huh?”

Louis had looked like he wanted to cry.

Really, he could’ve just shut the door. Louis would’ve banged on it for a few more minutes before cursing, probably, and stomping away, and he would’ve gone to a little bar, probably, and stumbled out drunk when the sun would be too bright for his eyes. And Harry would be in a panic, probably, and management would have a fit, probably, and Louis would turn up days later looking pleased with himself and distant. And that would’ve been it, probably.

Instead, he’d opened the door wider and tilted his head, quietly giving into the affection he’d been trying so hard to ignore. 

Curled up on his couch, Louis had looked him in the eye and said, “I fucked up. I fucked up _large_.”

Zayn had agreed with a small nod of the head, arms crossed over his chest, staring down at Louis as emotionlessly as he could.

“Harry’s pissed. And I don’t even think he’s pissed because we’ve been fucking around--which he doesn’t exactly _know_ about, he’s just guessing. I think he’s pissed just because I didn’t _tell_ him. Which is weird. So fucking weird.”

Another nod.

“And I...called Liam, when you wouldn’t answer. Just to check up on you, yeah? And he...oh, shit, you should’ve heard him. He _went off_. About how if you weren’t answering it was my fault, and how I should back off and stop fucking up everyone around me. Can you believe that? Liam Payne, master of politeness. Not that he was wrong, or anything. And...remember when he didn’t like me? Yeah. So I wasn’t too surprised. I just, kind of...was.”

_Oh, fine._

“You don’t fuck up everyone around you. ...Most people, yeah. But I haven’t ever seen, uh...Niall. I haven’t ever seen Niall mad at you.”

***

At around three this morning, Zayn’d asked Louis if he and Harry had broken up. Louis’d shrugged and mumbled that he didn’t know. He thought they were just fighting, but he didn’t know. He wasn’t about to ask.

“Was it worth it?” Zayn’d asked, unable to help himself. He knew it was a bit rude, a bit taunting, but maybe Louis deserved to have the knife twisted. Just a bit.

Louis had rubbed at his eyes and laughed quietly, because nothing about this was funny, and everything about this stung. “No. No, it wasn’t.”

***

At around four this morning Louis had fallen asleep looking like he’d wake up with a crick in his neck, so Zayn had lifted him up and carried him into his bedroom. He’d laid him down gently, brushed his hair off his face, and let the door click shut softly behind him.

Zayn had begun to miss when everyone was friends. It's the loneliest feeling in the world to be surrounded by people he once considered his friends and not to be able to really talk to any of them. And he wondered if something like that--something so strong being ruined--could really be caused by something so (relatively) small. The boys had been his best, and very nearly _only_ , friends for years. Since they'd met, they'd bonded perfectly (with Zayn being only a little on the outside, only a little). He'd never been so dedicated to something before. He wondered if one wrong move could really break something so significant, so strong. He didn’t think so. He thought it'd have to be something bigger, something more gradual. Something that could not be fixed.

What he and Louis did could be fixed. They could fix it if they tried.

(But it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't matter at all.)

***

At around five this morning, Zayn called Liam. He hadn't expected an answer, but after rings one, two, and three he'd been greeted by a groggy, "morning, Z".

He'd called figuring he should say a lot of things. Things like, good morning Liam, how are you, and, I'm sorry, Liam, and, I don't love you, Liam. They were all things Liam, sweet, sincere Liam, deserved to hear. They were all things Zayn, were he not so selfish lately, would've said. But he had been acting selfish lately, so what he said instead of any of the things Liam deserved to hear was,

"I want to record our song and finish the album. I want it done."

He hadn't realized how _badly_ he'd wanted to finish it until the words were out of his mouth, but suddenly it felt urgent. Suddenly it felt like the only thing in the way of...something. Something better than what he has now.

"Oh." He heard rustling on Liam's end and could imagine him sitting up, rubbing at his eyes, looking blearily at the wall. "Oh, okay. Well I'll call around...see when the other boys are free..." 

Zayn couldn't imagine Harry was very busy currently, and he knew Louis wasn’t. "Try Niall first, yeah?" 

There was more rustling, silence, and then, "I guess Louis' with you?" 

He could only imagine how that must've seemed. What Liam must've thought. 

"He showed up at my door a couple hours ago, yeah." 

(God forbid anyone think him and Louis to be friends, or anything more than that. God forbid Zayn seem like he cares.) 

"Oh. Well. I'll call the other two later and let you know. Bye, Zayn." 

The silence rung in his ears painfully, and when he set his phone down he realized that he and Liam may never be right again. He realized the thought didn't upset him like it should. It only made him tired. 

__

***

At around six this morning, he called his lawyer.

***

Now, at seven this morning, Louis is looking at his song and nodding slowly.

"I've inspired art."

Zayn rolls his eyes and snatches his notebook back. He's not angry, of course, or embarrassed--Louis was going to see it at some point anyway. He's more surprised that Louis isn't angry. Not that he's complaining. He's not much in the mood for fighting.

"Yeah, by being a dickhead." 

Louis shrugs as if to say _touché_ and they fall back into silence. Zayn isn't in the mood for talking (to Louis, especially). He's got too much on his mind. Too much to worry about that he can't share with anyone.

He's just about to ask Louis when exactly he plans on going home when his phone rings, Liam's name in bold across the screen.

"Hey."

He should’ve sounded more enthusiastic or said something more, but Liam's talking before he can try again.

"I've got Harry, Niall, and a sound guy coming over soon. You and Louis coming?"

Not that he'd mentioned to Louis that they'd be recording today. Oh well.

"Yeah, we'll be over."

"Right. Cool."

He wonders, briefly, if Liam knows why he's so eager to finish the album. He wonders if he put it together in his head. He wonders if he's that obvious.

The line goes silent. 

(Liam knows. Of course Liam knows. Liam always knows.)

***

A makeshift studio is set up in Liam's living room by the time he and Louis arrive. Liam's got Harry singing the refrain like they'd talked about and Louis seems immediately uncomfortable with hearing the words come out of Harry's mouth. ( _I let you use me from the day that we first met…_ ) Niall's sat on the sofa with his head down, playing softly on his guitar, perfecting the tune, the rhythm. This is a scene Zayn used to find comforting, homey. Now it leaves him squirming and feeling empty.

"I want to get in next," Louis says, eyes on Harry, sounding agitated. 

He probably wants to forget that the uncomfortable feeling in the air is his fault. He probably wants to act like the words everyone is singing aren't about him. Zayn doesn't think he blames him for that. 

When Harry finishes, he goes to Louis out of habit, and shifts awkwardly because their little habits have been marked and ruined. Still, he puts gentle fingers on Louis' wrist and asks quietly if they can talk once he's done. Louis shrugs, his jaw set and hard, and moves his way to the microphone. The look Harry gives Zayn once Louis' gone makes him feel absolutely sick.

Without Louis by his side he feels vulnerable, like together they were something nasty and destructive, but at least they weren't alone.

When Louis starts singing, he shifts closer to Liam. He's on his phone looking at the song's lyrics, making note of who's doing what, of what needs fixing. He looks more like a manager than any manager they've ever had.

( _And I know in my heart, you’re just a moving part..._ )

"Hey, Liam," he says softly, not wanting to mess Louis up but not wanting to listen to him either.

Liam doesn't even look up, just barely lifts hand and waves it. 

Harry's still giving him that betrayed look from across the room. Niall's been doing his best to ignore them all. Liam won't even look at him.

"Liam," he tries again, because he's willing to cut ties with almost everyone in this room because he feels like he's suffocating, drowning in a life he built with people who he feels like he barely knows, but Liam has always been different, has always been closer, has always meant more and, "I'm sorry. About everything that's been going on."

Louis finishes up at the same time Liam laughs, the sound of it hard and humorless in the sudden quiet. "Zayn. I don’t care about you and Louis. It barely affects me."

Behind him, Harry is mumbling, trying to stay calm and gentle, and Louis is snapping back, ignoring Harry's efforts for a peaceful talk.

"Okay," and he tries again, because he always has with Liam, "but I'm sorry about anything else. Like...if I...I dunno."

"Acted exactly like Louis and relentlessly lead me on?"

Louis is saying something about, maybe this is your fault Harry, maybe I needed a break from you, and Harry is absolutely silent.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm really sorry, Li. I do love you, just--"

"I get it. It doesn't really matter, yeah? What I'm more concerned about is your sudden _need_ to finish this album. If you want to leave Zayn then you might as well just say so--"

Louis yells _maybe I don't love you_ , and everything gets completely silent, from Niall's guitar strings to the birds outside to the inhales and exhales of everyone in the room. 

He knows he shouldn't turn to look but it's like driving past a car crash: he can't help but glance at the wreckage. Harry looks five seconds from shattering and Louis looks cold, distanced. 

(When they first met, Zayn had been so jealous of them. They'd bonded immediately; always touching, always laughing. He used to have to fight for Louis' attention. Louis', because Louis' attention made him feel special. It was wild. It was loud. And he and Harry were the loudest, wildest flame. Who wouldn't be jealous?)

"Maybe," Louis continues, hard and small and cold and aware of his audience, "if we weren’t so dried up and exhausting, I wouldn't have _needed_ Zayn."

As Louis walks out of the house, he wonders who that was meant to hurt more: him or Harry.

(He only started feeling better when Liam stopped obsessing over his dislike of Louis long enough to relax and obsess over something a little less toxic: Zayn. Once he and Liam were friends, everything fell into place. Niall had found a spot in each of their lives, because there was never enough Niall to go around, never someone who didn't love him. Harry and Louis had something special in each other, and now he and Liam had something special of their own. Liam wasn’t like Louis, of course. He was calm and quiet and gentle. If Louis was a flame, Liam was a stream. Constant and reliable.)

Liam is staring at him, waiting for his reaction. Harry's eyes are wide and wet and he's wrapped his arms around himself as if he could hold himself together after something like that. He hears Niall curse quietly.

(And together the five of them were something unstoppable. Together they could do anything. Together they had something special, a friendship to envy, the potential to be the greatest. Together they were home no matter where they were in the world.)

(Now he feels unwelcome and lonely and what they built together is meaningless.)

He knows he should at least try to fix things. He knows he should say something to Harry, be a proper friend. But even if he did fix things for now, he was only going to tear them all down again. 

(Liam knows it. He'll tell the other three the first chance he gets.)

_Fuck it. Things are already ruined._

He turns on his heel and hurries after Louis. 

_I'm not done yet, falling for your fool's gold..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...it's been awhile. It's been awhile.


	9. Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is happy.

Louis walks up to him wearing a fake mustache and big, round glasses. “Stealth, Tommo style,” Louis says before Zayn can make a comment.

"Always so sneaky," he agrees, and Louis winks.

The air around them is warm and promising; spring at its finest. Birds sing, bugs buzz, wind blows in gentle puffs. The bench underneath them is sun kissed and damp, April showers (or, rather, British showers) spitting on and off and doing nothing to disturb the peacefulness of the day.

Peaceful. Everything is finally so peaceful.

Louis is quiet next to him, which is strange, but not bad. Zayn would rather have him quiet than angry, and considering how angry the other boy has been lately, he'd take the silence as a good thing.

After a moment (long enough for a mom to jog by and do a double-take and for the rain to start up again) Louis shifts next to him, and Zayn feels the light pressure of a hand over his own. His jerk reaction is to flinch away from the touch, but he stops himself. Louis’ hand is warm and small and familiar and comforting; he feels a little less lonely because of it. He wills the rarity of the feeling not to make him sad.

Instead, he looks down at Louis’ hand and says, “I see you and Harry made up?”

Louis’ face lights up and he moves his hand to play with the ring on his finger, twisting the silver band and running his thumb over the showy blue gemstone set in the middle. “Yeah,” he sighs, sounding sickeningly dreamy, and then his eyebrows pinch together and he drops both of his hands to his lap. “I meant to tell you. I guess I just…you know, since I don’t see you as much anymore…”

Forgot. Louis had forgotten him. He tries not to let it hurt. He knows none of them were ignoring him on purpose. He knows that he’s the one who backed off, not Louis, not any of the other boys.

“I get it,” he says it with a smile, trying to seem like he means it, and then he moves on, “how about you and Liam? Doing alright?”

Louis shrugs and waves a dismissive hand. “What about _you_ and Liam?”

(Truthfully, he hasn’t spoken to Liam since he left. He isn’t sure if it’s because he hasn’t tried or because Liam hasn’t tried or if it’s a little bit of both. He is sure that it doesn’t matter; either way, they haven’t talked. He hasn’t said sorry, and Liam hasn’t told him it’s okay. It _isn’t_ okay, he knows that, but it’d be nice to hear it…)

“We’ll work it out eventually,” he says, looking at the rain clouds instead of at Louis. 

Things are quiet between them for long enough for it to settle in that Zayn is lying, and that Louis has no idea what to say to be helpful. “Yeah,” is what he eventually says, “you will. You two’ll be fine.”

(He starts feeling the loneliness he’s been feeling since he left the only thing he’d ever been a part of. It’s sat in his chest day after day, spreading from his lungs to his veins to his bones and his stomach and his head. He feels it behind his eyes every time he blinks, every time he tries to sleep. He feels it in his heart.)

“Anyway,” Louis says quickly, “how’s it been going in the studio?”

(He doesn’t have the heart to tell Louis he’s paired himself with another bullshit producer, and that every song he writes ends up being about one of the boys or all of the boys, and that he loves how he sounds alone but he misses how he sounded with four other voices around him.)

“Really good. It’s been really good.”

Louis knocks his shoulder into Zayn’s gently, and Zayn tells himself to smile. “You’re going to be fine,” Louis says.

( _Without us._ He leaves it out, but Zayn knows he’s thinking it.)

“Yeah. You all will be too.”

( _Without me,_ he thinks.)

(One of them is lying. They both know it.)

(They both know which one of them it is, too.)

***

A year later, Zayn wakes up to gentle kisses being pressed to his neck. He groans, shoves his face into his pillow, pushes his body against the stronger one behind him. He keeps his eyes shut tight and suppresses a smile. He mumbles a ‘good morning’ when the arm around his waist squeezes gently.

“Today’s the big day,” Liam says quietly, pressing yet another _‘wake up, please’_ kiss to Zayn’s skin. 

Liam’s been talking about this nonstop for weeks; not that Zayn blames him. It is exciting, he’s just been...nervous about it. Hasn’t wanted to think about it anymore than he had to. But he guesses he can’t avoid it any longer…

“Louis’ been tweeting about it all morning--everyone’s really excited…” Liam sounds hopeful (hoping that Zayn’s hard work will have paid off, hoping that this was all worth it, hoping that he won’t be disappointed), and Zayn can’t help but smile. 

(Liam loves him. Liam’s always loved him so much.)

He rolls over in Liam’s arms, chest to chest, nose to nose, smile to smile. 

(Liam’d shown up on his doorstep the day after promo for his and the boys’ fifth album was done, carrying a single backpack and sporting a sheepish grin. 

“Can I come in?” He’d asked, as if Zayn could tell him no.)

“I just hope it does well,” Zayn mumbles, regretting it when Liam’s bottom lip juts out a bit and his eyebrows knit together.

“Of course it’ll do well...people love you. People love your voice.”

(And that was it, really. Liam moved into the guest room, and after a few nights of Zayn crawling into bed with him or Liam crawling into bed with Zayn, Liam moved into Zayn’s room. Liam started tucking his chin into Zayn’s shoulder and helping him write lyrics and Liam sat and listened while Zayn recorded. Liam told him what sounded good and what didn’t.

It was like nothing had changed, except, it had, and they could both feel it. Not in the absence of the other three, not in Zayn having to harmonize with himself instead of his ex-bandmates, not in the absolute silence in between recordings. No. They felt it in the tranquility, and the pride in Liam’s smile, and the glow in Zayn’s cheeks when the music _he_ wanted to make was _actually_ accepted. They felt it in Zayn’s contentment.)

“I love your voice,” Liam adds quietly after a moment, eyes fixed seriously on Zayn’s, “I love you.”

(“Thank you for coming.”

The only sound in the room had been their breath and the murmur from the TV, a dull, continuous buzz in the background. He laid snug against Liam’s side feeling warm and drowsy and safe. 

“I love you,” Liam had said back. He ran a gentle hand down Zayn’s back, as if to say, _how could I have stayed away?_

Liam’s heart beat steady next to his ear, and Zayn found home again.)

Zayn closes his eyes and says _I love you too_ against Liam’s mouth, lips ghosting gently over hips, breath mingling with breath.

_He finds it hard to believe he ever thought that he and Liam were ruined. Thinking about it now, he realized Liam had never left his side. In five years, not once. Maybe he never will._

Liam lays a hand on Zayn’s cheek, brushes his thumb over his eyelids. He blinks his eyes open and finds Liam’s face set in hard, serious lines. Zayn pouts his lip out, silently asking _what’s wrong._

“Are you happy?”

(It’s gradually become more permanent. Liam’s clothes take up half his closet, Liam’s got his own side of the medicine cabinet, Liam can find everything in the kitchen without asking. Liam’s family have been to visit. Liam hasn’t once said anything about getting his own place, or about going back to London. 

Zayn thinks he’d be crushed if he ever did.)

Zayn sets his hand over Liam’s. Liam smiles at him, and then tilts his head.

(There’ve always been rumors about him and Liam. They’ve always just laughed them off, but when Zayn gets questions about it now, he finds that he can’t do that. And every time he’s asked, it hits him that _he doesn’t have to pretend if he doesn’t want to._

So he answers, _“Are you and Liam together?”_ with, _“Yes, happily.”_

 _“How’s married life?”_ with, _“It’s great, really good.”_

 _“We’re all so happy for the two of you,”_ with, _“Thank you, the support means a lot.”_

They’re free. They’re really, truly free.)

“Yes.”

(Lately it’s been rumored that Zayn’s wrecked Liam’s friendships with the rest of the boys; _those_ rumors he has no problem denying. Besides working on separate projects, things are just like they used to be. 

He doesn’t think anything could keep the five of them apart for very long. Regardless of whether or not they’re working together, they need each other. It’s always been that way.)

The best part about saying _yes_ is that he means it.

(He thinks it always will be that way.)

He really, really means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically none of this ended how I wanted it to but I didn't have a solid plan and March 25th happened and my whole life changed but my Zouis heart has literally no chill so I had to finish this piece of Zouis trash. (Ziam...trash...I guess it turned into Ziam trash...)
> 
> Anyway come talk to me on Tumblr we can be Zouis trash together. 
> 
> It's been fun kids~

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @glitteryrage  
> Tumblr: @louistomlinsmol  
> 


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